


Ghost of a New World

by Smuppetsona (CarcharodonOrcinus)



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Afterlife, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarcharodonOrcinus/pseuds/Smuppetsona
Summary: Death leaves many loose ends, but perhaps with determination, we can find ways to tie them neatly, as we never could in life.





	Ghost of a New World

This was the end: Light was prone on a staircase, too weak from blood-loss to keep crawling away. The God of the new world was in his final 40 seconds. He could almost hear Ryuk cackling as he scribbled his name in the Death Note. His vision was getting blurry, the hazy light above was pulling itself into figures and shapes. His biggest regret stood hunched before him.

“Are you happy, L?” Light gasped out. 

Then the world went dark. In emptiness he floated, painless and motionless like there was nothing left of him to feel, to move or be moved.

“I could be happier,” said that familiar flat voice, “You lasted much longer than I hoped.” 

In his dreams, he maintained a perfect replica of him.  _ Light is my first friend. Light is the first person I was ever interested in. You are brilliant. I won’t be satisfied unless you are Kira. I pray that you aren’t Kira. _ A ghost that had haunted Light’s dreams since he held him in his arms and smiled as he died, now here to haunt him in his dying moments. Light would consider it an irony most bitter if not for the fact that he was already drowning in bitter irony.

“You don’t have to keep lying there on the couch, Light. Try opening your eyes.”

Now that he says it, Light can feel something soft beneath him. He tries to move and springs creak. Slowly, he blinks and begins to take in the room.

“This is… the room we shared. When I--”

“Gave up the Death Note. I know.” 

He sat up, expecting the feeling of blood rushing to his head, but he couldn’t feel his body still--only the things around it.

“I’ve had a lot of time to prepare this room, you know,” L continues, “As I said, you took much too long, but I guess it’s only fair that we had roughly the same life span. Of course, I lived exactly 309 days longer than you.”

His black hair was as scruffy and unkempt as ever, and he was still wearing the same white sweatshirt and blue jeans as he wore every single day Light had ever seen him in life. A grade-A goddamn mess perched upon a cozy chair. His lip was pulled into a smug smirk by his thumb.

“You really counted the days waiting for me to die, huh?”

His thumb drops with his mouth into a pout.

“I didn’t count. That's too depressing.”

“But you have been waiting for me to die, then?” 

L blinked slowly, then spoke softly, “I have been dead for nearly seven years, and the last thing I ever saw was my friend--who I knew was Kira, even as I denied it was possible--smiling down on me like he enjoyed watching me die. Did you expect me not to wait?”

A weight sunk heavy in the pit of Light’s stomach. It settled in with all the leaden bobs Light had swallowed over the years: first kill, second kill, Sayu’s kidnapping, L’s death. The feel of it made him sick.

“You would have done it too,” Light told him. His hands gripped the couch cushion so hard that they trembled.

“Kill you, or become Kira?”

He shot up from the couch and screamed, “BOTH OF THEM!!! I was doing what was right, cleaning up the garbage, and if it was your job, you’d understand why I couldn’t let anyone stop me!” He clenched his fists. He wondered if a ghost can be punched.

L cocked his head and replied, “Light, I had every opportunity to try to use the Death Note when it was in police custody, and I didn’t. I had every ability to have you tried and executed as Kira, and I didn’t.”

Furious, Light kept yelling, “It’s not the same! If you believe in a just world--” 

L was on his feet, those feet were in the air, and Light was on the ground. L squatted down next to him while Light was still reeling from his inability to feel the pain that should be in his jaw.

“I did not wait here for you to hear your defense, and I definitely did not wait here to be accused by you. So please, shut up and answer my questions.” L’s face was as expressionless as ever, but his voice dripped poison. The lead in Light’s stomach shifted and tumbled inside him. L offered him his hand.

“I would prefer if you were sitting up, to facilitate eye-contact,” he said, his hand still outstretched. Reluctantly, Light took it and allowed himself to be pulled up.

“Anything I could say won’t be enough to make you happy, L,” he warned him.

“I’m aware,” he replied, as the lead threatened to pull Light back to the ground, “But, now that neither of us have anything to lose, will you be honest if I will?”

Light stared at him blankly.

“Fine. In a show of good faith, you may ask me a question first,” L said. Awkwardly he placed a hand on Light’s shoulder in misguided attempt at showing camaraderie. But Light did not shake him off. There was one question that he’d always wanted the answer to.

“What did you want from me when you called me your first friend?” L withdrew his hand to play with his lip as he thought.

“Funny. I would’ve asked you a similar question.”

“Just answer it.”

“At the time, I wanted you to think I was endeared to you, that your charm had gotten to me as well. If you thought you had the upperhand, you would surely slip up on an assumption that was false. I also wanted us to have the pretense of friendship in order to keep a close eye on you.”

“So you were trying to manipulate me?” Light asks, and L nods his head in response.

“But that’s not all that there was to it. I didn’t realize it, but I was also telling the truth,” his hand found its way back to Light’s shoulder as L locked eyes with him, “You were and are my only friend.”

“And why should I believe that?” 

Those weights tumbled around, feeling they would come up if Light did not keep completely in control, but everything about L being in front of him again unsettled him and made him wonder what he was still trying to win.

“If I didn’t want you to be innocent so badly, I would not have let you go from surveillance until I could verify that the rules written in your Death Note were true. Even if the others believed in you, they would have to agree that there was no evidence that the rules listed were not written by human hands, nor that they were all true, and they would’ve had to listen to me. Light, I knew it was you, and I chose to let you go anyway,” his grip tightened on Light’s shoulder, his blank eyes stared unblinking, and his voice hushed as he leaned in closer, “If I had never had such feelings for Light Yagami, I would never have been so careless.”

_ The first week alone together, Light couldn’t sleep with L at his laptop across the room; the chain pulled and jangled and chafed as he typed, and the light glowed through his eyelids. Light blew up at him in frustration after 7 restless nights, but immediately he felt horrible seeing what looked a lot like hurt in L’s face. _

_ “Perhaps you’d feel better with some sweets,” he said with a pout that maybe only Light could perceive, “As for the future, I will put up a curtain around your bed and sit closer so the chain doesn’t move so much. I’m sorry.” _

_ Lead tried to sink down into Light’s stomach, but he spit it out, “Thank you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You wouldn’t have known it was bothering me if I didn’t tell you.” _

_ They smiled at each other, and Light-- _

“Whatever you’re thinking, tell me. We agreed to be honest, Light.”

“I was analyzing the evidence that you were my friend.”

“Your conclusion?”

Light swept L’s hand from his shoulder, “We were.”

_ Hurt _ , L pulled his hand back to his knee and replied, “Well. I cannot let you leave this limbo until you’ve answered my questions.”

“I can’t imagine I have much else to do,” Light said, “but let’s at least sit on the couch.”

“Let’s have tea, too,” L said, as he stood up.

“Tea?”

He turned and walked to a table obscured in shadow, picked something up and poured, clearly making a cup of tea, and said, “As best as I can deduce, this space is built from my memories and my imagination as long as I’m willful enough to make it appear. Even as a dead man, I am very stubborn, so yes, I can make you tea.”

“I take mine black, no sugar.”

“Hm. Perhaps I cannot make you tea.”

With a huff of laughter, Light says, “I thought you wouldn’t be able to.”

He hoisted himself back onto the couch and leaned against the armrest as L finished putting imaginary sugar cubes in his limbo tea. When he was done, L squatted next to him, facing him as he sipped.

They were silent for a moment in their uneasy company before Light spoke again, “So. What questions did you want to ask?”

And then it was silent a moment more before L asked, “Was justice the only reason you became Kira?”

“No,” he replied before he could stop himself, the lead tumbling inside him and biting at the back of his throat.

“No? What else then?” L scooted closer. The scent of Earl Grey filled the gap between them.

“I was bored. The world isn’t enough for people like us.” Honesty sucks. L’s splayed knee was pressing into his side as he inched even closer.

“Like us?”

Light sighed, like he was stating the obvious, “We’re geniuses, L. Geniuses with extraordinary talents. All people need challenge to thrive, but what could challenge us?”

He took a long sip, but did not interrupt, so Light continued, “If anyone was suited to judge the world, it was me. And don’t tell me you’ve never felt like you deserved something like that.”

“I used to bully the other orphans because I was bigger and smarter than them. Stole all the best toys and candy. I had a very objectivist outlook as a child.”

“You admit you relate then?”

“I do, but I was a ill-adjusted child who did not directly murder anyone. You were a 17-year-old in a loving home who killed thousands of people.”

“I have a strong sense of justice. You said you had ample opportunity to use the Death Note, but you didn’t. You’d already decided it was a tool of evil by the time you first held it.”

He took another sip, then sighed, “Fine. I grant you that point. I insist I wouldn’t have used it like you did--if at all--but I can’t prove that hypothetical.”

“Kira: 1, all 3 of the world’s greatest detectives: 0,” Light said, 1 and 0 with his fingers.

Huffing in subdued laughter, L told him, “I think dying knocked me off that list.”

“I refuse to accept your successors, so as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been on it this whole time.”

“I’m glad to have the approval of both my best friend and worst enemy.”

“No one knows you like I do, L.”

He kicked back the last of his tea, passed it away, as if to an imaginary Watari, and turned away from Light. His knee was still pressed into Light’s side, and his whole body leaned towards him now. “I know,” he said, “and I know you just as well.”

Then they both fell silent. Light took the opportunity to marvel at how much L’s recreation mirrored his own memories. Except, it was night in L’s mind, where Light gravitated towards the day. So much of the room was swallowed in shadow. But there was still the glow of L’s laptop on the desk beside Light’s four-poster bed. The curtains were drawn, and he wondered if he’d find a memory of himself sleeping under the covers.

Softly, L spoke again, “Light… Do you believe what you see is real?”

“You already told me it’s a memory, a figment of your imagination.”

“Yes, but do you believe I’m not a part of your imagination?”

Light turned back to him. He was still facing ahead, not looking at Light.

“I dreamed about seeing you again since that night, but not once did I imagine you as a child reading Ayn Rand until a few moments ago, so I’d say I’m convinced.” He tried to smile at him, but L still didn’t look.

“Good. But I’m not. My next question is more like a request: do something I couldn’t imagine, something I wouldn’t have guessed. But remember, we’re being honest; I can imagine all kinds of lies from you.”

Light’s smile faded, and he leaned back on the couch.  _ Do something honest. _ Lead was in the back of his throat again, begging to come up.  _ Honest. _

He spit it out, “I regret killing you.”

L snapped to face him and leaned in close.

“I said hon--”

“I’ve regretted it since I realized you were the only match for me, the only person who could challenge me. And I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I dreamed of you,” he said, but the lead kept coming up, “I regretted not being more careful once you were gone. Sayu could’ve been hurt; innocents, real innocents, have been hurt because of me. I even regretted the first few kills for a while because I wasn’t ready for the sacrifice I had to make. But more than anything, I regret killing you.” 

And then he was empty, only the metallic taste remained. Maybe he would never be able to wash that out.

L was chewing on his thumb again as he stated at Light, clearly unsure what to believe.

“You really are stubborn, L.”

He didn’t speak.

“If you can’t believe what I say, then I’ll have to show you. How do you build a room from a memory?”

“If you describe it to me, we may be able to create it together.”

Light grabbed L’s hand off his knee and squeezed.

“Then listen…”

_ It’s mid-afternoon, and the sun is shining in through the window. Light’s bed is perfectly made with dark blue covers. His bookshelves are fully stocked, though some of the sleeves hide less-than-educational material. The desk is against the wall. The top drawer locks. _

“I’m going to open the drawer and show you what’s inside,” he whispered to L. It didn’t make sense to keep his voice low, but it felt natural when giving away such a secret. He let go of L’s hand and grabbed a pen from his desk, unscrewing it and removing the capsule. He opened the drawer, revealing the false diary, then slipped the capsule into place, lifting the false bottom and exposing the far more valuable Death Note atop the bag of gasoline and circuitry priming it to ignite.

“So that’s how… I didn’t expect a bomb.”

Light replaced the false bottom carefully, then returned his hand to L’s.

“And now you believe me?”

He seemed to be considering it, his teeth gnawing away at his ghost thumb. 

“Are you sorry?”

“I regret it, but I’m not sorry, no.”

“Then I believe you.” He squeezed back Light’s hand.

“Good. Can we go back to our room? I liked it there.”

“No,” he said, popping his thumb out of his mouth, “I have somewhere else I’d like to go first.”

The room reconstructed itself again. A staircase seemed to stretch into eternity in the shadows, only bordered on one side by a wall with a tall window. Only the pouring rain was visible outside. Two figures were tangled together, unmoving. L’s was blank, missing his face, while Light’s looked surprised by L hovering an inch away from his face.

“It’s not the moment I would’ve picked,” Light said.

“What would you picture then?”

_ L was prone against the staircase, wet hair fanning out and clinging to his face. Their kissing had finally brought some color to that deathly pallor in splotches of red. Light was above him, switching their positions. One hand was clasped to L’s hand, pinning it to the staircase, the other  was held uncomfortably behind L’s back. They were frozen in time, just before their last kiss. _

L frowned.

“I prefer mine. That staircase hurt.”

“You should’ve thought of that before trying to kiss me on it.”

“Hm.”

“Did you have a reason for this, or are you just nostalgic?”

L didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still lingering on the phantom figures.

“Why did you let me kiss you that night?”

“I wanted to kiss you,” he said, as if either of them could ever be that simple.

“Hadn’t you already decided to kill me?” His grip on Light’s hand tightened. It would hurt if Light could feel pain.

“I decided that as soon as you started trying to stop me.”

“Then why kiss me?”

“It’s not like I would get the chance once you were dead, now would I?”

The staircase fell away, replaced by the carpeted floor of the room they shared. Not until all the midnight shadows had cast themselves just so did L face him and grab his other hand.

“You were wrong.”

“With the information given, I made the correct assumption.”

“No, if you had assumed you did not have the right information to determine if you would get the chance to kiss me once I was dead, that would’ve been correct.”

Light led him to the four-poster bed and parted the curtains. No memories here yet. Just the flat surface of a well-made bed.

“You are just as insufferable in death as you were in life; are you proud of that?”

He pulled him down onto the bed with him, and L broke his grip to squat.

“Very.”

Light leaned back and brushed his hand against L’s cheek, displacing strands of frazzled black hair from his cold skin. On he continued, reaching back behind his neck, then he drew him close. L mirrored him, and drew Light close until their foreheads were touching, their breath mingling.

“Do you think you’re really this cold, or am I just remembering you this way?” Light mumbled as he brought his free hand up to toy with L’s lip. 

“I think I’m remembering myself as being cold. You feel warm from here,” he mumbled back, his own free hand threading itself in Light’s neatly combed hair.

“Do you see me at 18, or 24?” Light asked, shifting so they were nose to nose.

“24, I presume. You’re older than in my memories, but I always tried to imagine you as you would be.” 

“And I always saw you the same as the day you died.”

“Macabre.”

“Very.”

L closed the space between their lips, and finally began to warm up. They kissed until it felt like there was nothing between them. For a gracious moment there was nothing left to say; the bite of metal left Light’s mouth and was replaced by L’s tongue. They were both too aggressive, pushing and pulling and never bending, and yet the feeling was perfect between them. A match. Unstoppable force and immovable object crashing to meet and cancelling to a tender and warm gray like the ashes of burned paper. It didn’t make sense that they should’ve found each other, and yet here they were, destroyed by each other and starting again.

_ Starting again. _

“We’ll have to move on soon,” L said when they finally broke away, still curled together on the bed, “I could only bargain to stay here until I could see you.”

Light hoisted up on his elbow.

“You made a deal with a shinigami?”

He nodded, “Shinigami like to gamble, apparently. I bet the king of shinigami that I could beat him in chess, and if I did, he’d let me stay in limbo until you died, and then I’d have 4 hours to talk to you.”

“And what if you lost?”

“I would’ve had to stay in the shinigami realm and entertain them for eternity.”

“Raw deal. I’ve heard it’s extremely boring there.”

“Yes. That’s why I won.”

Light laid back down.

“So where are we going from here?”

“Earth again. But this time, I’m meeting you before you get the chance to become a mass murderer.” L looked him square in the eye, dead serious.

“Was that part of your deal?”

“No, I did a second deal. Double or nothing. We played rock-paper-scissors.”

Light brushed his hair out of the way and kissed him on the forehead.

“Then I guess we’ll see each other again soon.”

L kissed him back on the cheek.

“Soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> L deserved better. He will have better.


End file.
